Poison Ivy
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Chance has a run-in with poison ivy :  He's shirtless, yes, but this story may come off a little more hurt/comfort than hot, smexi goodness.


Jogging was an early morning routine for Chance. At least when he wanted to have a little fun with Ilsa-seeing her blush was quickly becoming the highlight of his day. That being said, San Francisco summers tended to feel something akin to the ninth circle of hell. So most of the time, during the summer he could jog down the block and back sans shirt and still achieve the same affect that was guaranteed to make her blush. This time however, upon returning, he was more worried about the annoying itch that had taken up residence on his shoulder and bicep than he was about seeing Ilsa blush.

"Good Morning, Mister Chance." Her British lilt was soft, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"My shoulder," Chance managed to ground out as he clawed at his shoulder. "Itches like crazy."

She walked over to him and wrapped her long slender fingers around his wrist, bringing his hand away from his shoulder and simultaneously spinning him around. She ran the back of her cool fingers up and down the back of his neck absently as she examined his shoulder.

_Crap! _

Well there was something wrong, if the redness and itching was any indication but that's not what she was focused on. The thick sinewy muscles of his bicep and shoulder as they contracted and relaxed under her touch had caught her attention. She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks and the shudder that was dying to wrack her body. She repressed the urge to shudder in pure pleasure at the sight of his bicep and shoulder.

The things that a shirtless Chance could do to her were amazing.

_Focus, Ilsa!_

"Poison ivy." Ilsa told him with a nod of her head, her black curls bouncing against her collarbone. "Definitely poison ivy."

"How can you tell?" Chance asked her trying not to claw at his shoulder like a flea-bitten dog.

"You're starting to develop blisters. It's red, itchy and your arm looks swollen." Ilsa told him softly.

"How do you know that isn't just muscle?" Chance smirked, thankful he wasn't facing her so she couldn't see the amusement dancing in his ocean water eyes.

"Because it isn't-well it isn't," Ilsa fumbled slightly before she grabbed his arm and squeezed it lightly. "Your bicep isn't..as...hard as it usually is."

Chance chuckled as he turned to face her and found her blushing, "So you notice how hard my biceps are?"

"Maybe," Ilsa shrugged it off, forcing her cheeks to return to their natural color and a bit of professionalism back into her voice. "I know how to treat it, in the meantime, go rinse your arm and shoulder off. Cool water. I'm going to go get some anti-itch cream."

Chance nodded and watched her leave, a sassy swing to her sensual hips as the white dress swished around her shapely legs. The back of his neck tingled from where she touched him making him wonder if he could ever get her to rub his neck like that again.

"Hmm." Chance hummed as he jogged up the stairs. "That was an interesting conversation."

xxx

Interesting didn't even begin to cover what was to come. Chance was just finishing up in the shower when he heard the familiar click of Ilsa's heels on the stairs and across his wooden floor. He stepped out of the bathroom in his jeans, a towel slung over his shoulder. As she walked toward him and he was able to see the white dress for the first time without being distracted, his mouth went very dry and he was suddenly wishing that shower had been colder...a lot colder.

The soft v-neck that lay along her collarbone dipped down just enough to tease but still leave him drooling. The soft silky belt that cinched the dress just under her bust emphasized her smallest part while the rest of the dress lay loosely over her sensual hips.

_Holy Mother!_

"I got you some anti-itch cream and if you be a good boy and let me put it on, I'll order Chinese food for lunch." Ilsa patronized, holding up the white paper bag with the drugstore logo printed on it.

Not a problem there.

He would gladly let her put it on him, if it meant feeling those wonderful hands on his neck and shoulder again. He didn't know why but for some reason her hands were like magic to him. They could work miracles and with a little trickery, he was willing to bet he could get a neck-rub.

"Go for it." Chance grinned, his ocean water eyes skimming over her hips.

"Let's go sit on your bed." Ilsa motioned toward his bed as she walked over to it and sat down, motioning for him to sit down in front of her.

He sat down in front of her on the bed and tilted his head down to allow her better access. He repressed the urge to shiver as her fingers brushed the back of his neck as she had done earlier. She pulled the tube of cream from the bag, opened it and squeezed some onto his shoulder.

"This is going to hurt," Ilsa mumbled, planting a kiss on the base of his neck as if to prepare him as she gently pressed her fingers into the cream and started rubbing it around his shoulder.

His eyes went wide, a sharp breath hitched in his throat and his hands clenched repeatedly as she worked the cream into his tender flesh. He hadn't prepared for it to be tender. Then again, it was a rash and rashes tended to be very tender.

"When you did come in contact with poison ivy like this?" Ilsa asked him as she gently rubbed some of the cream into his bi-cep.

"I went for a jog last night after I took you home that must have been when it happened." Chance groaned softly. "I had Guerrero take a look at your car by the way."

"He didn't destroy it, did he? That man has a bad reputation with cars." Ilsa giggled as she finished up and stood up to go wash her hands.

"No, but he is going to get the parts to repair it." Chance chuckled, "So until then, I'm your ride."

"Okay," Ilsa agreed from the bathroom as she rinsed her hands and dried them on a towel. "Do you know long it takes poison ivy to heal?"

"No," Chance shook his head as she walked into the room, her sassy hips appearing in his direct line of sight.

"Me neither." Ilsa giggled as she walked over to him. "You still want Chinese food?"

"I can think of something much better I'd like," Chance gave her a Machiavellian leer as he reached for her and pulled her down into his lap.

"I don't want to hurt you." Ilsa whispered as she grazed her hands down his rock-hard stomach.

"You're going to stay with me until this stuff heals, right?" Chance asked, burying a hand in her black curls.

"Yes. Now shut up." Ilsa whispered harshly, crashing her lips against his.

xxx

By the time his rash started to heal, they had settled into a routine they weren't sure they could let go of when it came time. It had already been three full weeks of rubbing his shoulder and arm with anti-itch cream, lots of hot, steamy kisses and a routine that closely resembled something a married couple might settle into. Chance would usually get up before Ilsa, cook breakfast and have it ready before he even thought about trying to wake her up. In the three weeks that she had been staying with him, at his insistence, he had learned that getting her up before the coffee was ready usually resulted in objects flying at, ahem, a certain body part with disturbing accuracy.

It was near the end of the third week that they knew it would be almost impossible to let go of their routine. It was when her sleepy little grin as he pulled her out of bed for coffee was what made him want to get up in the morning. It was the fact that she had taken to wearing one of his t-shirts over her shorts instead of a tank top to bed. It was the morning kisses and having breakfast together. It was the elements of a relationship that came with their routine that would be hard to let go of.

"You know," Ilsa commented, sliding her arms around his stomach as he worked on the scrambled eggs in the skillet in front of him. She pressed a kiss into his back, "Eventually I will have to go home."

"I know," Chance nodded as he set the wooden spoon down and turned to face her, wrapping his arms around her as he did so. "But-"

"Chance," Ilsa interrupted, "Your rash is healed, there's nothing left to heal."

"I like having you around." Chance mumbled, uncharacteristically tender as he kissed her head. "I got used to having you next to me in the morning. I got used to having you around, period. I'm going to miss it when you go home."

"So basically you're going to miss me?" Ilsa grinned teasingly.

"M-maybe." Chance shrugged casually.

"You're a bad liar, Mister Chance." Ilsa laughed as she reached up and looped her arms around his neck. "I like the truth better."

"Don't go." Chance pouted cutely, tightening his hold on her.

Ilsa giggled as she buried her hands in his hair and pulled him down, "Shut up."

The kiss was barely a tease at first but the harder she tugged at his hair, the harder it became until he had her pinned to the kitchen counter and one hand on her back, the other buried in her black curls. As her hands slid down over his stomach and her nails grazed his abs, he groaned into her mouth and wondered where in the hell that poison ivy was, because he was going to have to accidentally have another run-in with it.

Maybe poison ivy was good for something after all.

* * *

><p><strong>niagaraweasel, this one is for you my dear :) I hope you enjoy it! I love Mark, but I have no room for him in my closet so for now, he's all yours! Anyway, this story came after a rough week so it was majorly therapeutic for me, that's why it might seem a little more hurtcomfort than hot, smexi goodness. First, I was chewed out by a dental hygienist. Then the power went out and didn't come back on until sixteen freaking hours later! It sucks majorly! So anyway, the song I listened to while writing this was 'Never Leave This Bed' by Maroon 5, which isn't my normal song for writing Human Target. I much prefer Five for Fighting or the Boxer Rebellion but I listened to Maroon 5 because there is a Chance/Ilsa video set to this song. Anyway, leave me some love Dolls! **

**Love you, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


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